To Someone That Got Away

4/12/2016 01:35:00 AM

You are gone. You are gone from the central part of my mind, from the current chatlist on my phone, from my fulfilling babbling that I put on the net, from my favorite contact list because I used to call you every time the moon and stars show their face to us.

But you are not gone from my memories. The image of your smile is still etched in the deepest corner of my cerebrum that holds the entire being of what I learned in life, your contorted face looking at my foolishness still makes me beam with joy, your laugh at my ludicrous jokes still haunts me because I know sometimes I'm not that funny.

Your contact is not gone from my phone too. The call button on it are tempting me. I want to hear you speaking again when everyone is already tired to speak or even wake up. Or to see your name popped out from my very top chatlist again every time I look at it. Although it's started with celebrating the annual event or just a simple 'hi'.

You are happy with me gone, perhaps. Without me in your days talking with your spirit. You've already found the substitute to occupy your life, perhaps. I hope it makes you happy in the way I couldn't do. Or it cherishes your presence as much or more than I enjoy looking and being with you. I hope it holds you tightly not in the way I miserably did. Well, I've already found the substitute to fill up my mundane life too.  Or I think I did.

Perhaps it's for the best that you're gone. We are too defective to ever existed with contravened promises, with dropped tears produced by lachrymation down on our cheeks, with firm silence that I couldn't break. Already too much sacrifice has happened that making us this weak.

It's sad that you're already gone, when I want to tell you that I dream of you more often than I don't. And left me longing with your touch every time it happened. When I want to put my head on your shoulder just to hear the beating of your heart when we're not an inch apart. When I want to cupped your cheek and look at you in the eyes as I narrate you unimaginable things that would make you smile.

I begged God to help me making you truly gone. Unlike what Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre said, I want the string that tightly knotted and connected my left rib to yours snapped even though I bleed inwardly afterwards. I'm not frightened to face the agony, let it come along and wash me over. Until I'm healed with time or morphine in disguise of someone.

Sad songs on the radio are gone now. Puffy eyes are making us sleepy. We should've known that better than anyone. I haven't heard your voice, neither did you. We should've get used to that sooner than anyone. Greetings from you to visit the dreamland are gone too. And we should've get used to that too be replaced by anyone.

-- Gone.

(Inspired by individuals who can't move on from their past. It's obviously better to let go and move on, sometimes. Especially if you want to experience a whole new thing. But not often that feeling can be beautifully bittersweet too.)

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